I am a Picasso.
I lunge blindly across the street because I have no clue who has the right of way. This had led to a few problems. Lettuce has literally held my hand aw we crossed the street to ensure I don't die or cause a major traffic incident. Roundabouts? They make me dizzy. Also, English drivers start to enter the intersection when the yellow light goes on (it goes green, yellow, red, yellow, green).
Another problem I have with this England place is the general size of the portions. As an American I am used to super-sized cups, fries, and cars. I saw a car here that had three wheels. Picture that. And another thing just look at that washing machine! Do you know how many pairs of my dungarees can fit in there? Only two!
You think that's small you should see her vacuum.
This fridge is the height of the kitchen table. There is no freezer. Lettuce and I have to trek our butts the half mile to the grocery store and haul seven days or less worth of food back. Every week. The trouble isn't over once I get the food in the fridge.
There are no preservatives, so the minute I open my can of "Mexican" style salsa it starts to go bad (There is absolutely no Mexican food here. They think they have Mexican food, but it's actually tapas. God I would kill for a decent taco.). And they have these bizarre square juice boxes that are impossible to pour without spilling it all over the counter.
My college dorm fridge was larger.
Something else that makes me shudder is the polite way English people line up. They quietly "queue" for the bus, then move on in an orderly fashion without any complaining or shoving. It's peculiar. No one complains that the bus is late, and they even acknowledge the bus driver's existence with a "cheers" when exiting. It's freaky.
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I still love it here though.
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